Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(39)

His hand travels away from my face and down my arm to my thigh. He squeezes my leg, sending a new slithering alarm through my body. Anxiety presses against my chest, a winter storm encroaching on a cottage, slipping icy fingers through every weak crack. His grip clutches tighter to the point of bruising, and I cannot stop myself from trembling. I hate myself for showing weakness. It’s a fight to keep my face a stone mask, hiding the way I want to gag and retch as he touches me.

The door opens. I nearly sigh aloud, never having been so relieved to see Captain Omar.

“What’s going on in here?” the captain demands.

Tomas stands up and steps away. “The snit was trying to convince me to let her go.”

The captain regards the scene. “I’ll take the first watch. You’ll have the third.”

Tomas leaves the room. The captain tightens my restraints after binding my free hand, takes a seat in the corner, and then orders Cohen and me to sleep.

I’ve too many aches to doze off, and the night trudges by until sometime during the wee hours, after Leif has replaced Omar, I finally fall asleep. It seems like only a wink later when Leif is waking me, holding two bowls of porridge.

I’m glad he brought something for Cohen. Leif places a bowl in Cohen’s lap and unties his right hand. Then he comes to my side, unbinds one wrist, and helps me sit up. He catches my eye, and his face twists into an apologetic grimace.

When we traveled together, I thought he was the bright spot in a dark situation. I thought we were almost friends. Perhaps he felt the same.

“Do you believe me?” I whisper, needing to know if he still thinks I’ve sided with a murderer.

He nods almost imperceptibly, but I see it. Maybe Leif could help us—?

“Leif, come ready the horses,” Omar barks from the doorway, crushing my hopes.

Leif pushes the bowl of food closer and leaves the room on the captain’s heels. Tomas saunters in, a new bruise shining on the underside of his cheek. A punishment from Captain Omar? If so, it’s deserved.

“Noticed that, did you?” His mouth twists into an ugly grimace.

The toe of his boot connects with my leg, just below my knee, and I yelp, surprised. My leg stings, but it’s not too bad. It’s muted by the sight of Cohen, who’s behind Tomas, trapped in his seat, a vein bulging from his neck.

“You’re lucky you made a friend of Leif.” Tomas moves behind me and jerks the restraint on my left wrist, since it’s still bound. The metal cuts into my flesh, breaking old scabs. I bite back a cry. A dagger to the kidney, arrow to the vitals, Siron’s kick to his head, my hands around his neck—?my mind recites all the ways I’d like to see Tomas perish.

“If he weren’t around, I’d have a little more fun with you,” the guard says. “For now, I’ll just have to enjoy leaving marks he’ll never see.”

I tense, the image of last night when his hand was on my leg sticking in my thoughts. Tomas steps in front of me, crowding me so his mildew odor wafts around me. He traces my jaw with rough fingers. “And you’re not going to say anything because at any time I can and will exact punishment on your friend here. I have to take him to Malam, but it doesn’t mean I cannot torture him first.”

No.

“Now get up. It’s my turn to escort you to the privy,” he says with a sickening smile.

Dread seeps into my muscles.

Tomas leans in to unchain the restraints from the bedpost, and panic pipes through me at his proximity. And then realization dawns—?his nearness also compromises him, and my right hand is still free from breakfast.

I try to capture Cohen’s attention to send a message, only Tomas blocks my view of him. This may be our only opportunity to fight back. If we can bring Tomas to heel before the other men return, we’ll have a chance of getting away.

My free hand balls into a fist and, just before Tomas pulls back, I punch him in the nose. Only there isn’t enough force to drop the guard.

“Scrant!” Tomas’s eyes turn wild as he snakes a handful of my hair and yanks back. “You’ll be sorry for that.”

I might be sorry for a lot of things, but punching Tomas will never be one of them.

The keys clatter to the floor while Tomas grabs for his dagger. One-handed, I fumble for anything to use as a weapon, and seize the bowl of porridge. He raises the dagger just as I slam the hot breakfast into his face.

A crack sounds.

He roars and releases my hair as the dish clatters to the floor. Blood runs like a waterfall from his nose. There’s only so far I can move while still manacled to the bed; scurrying back doesn’t get me far enough away. He lands a furious punch to my temple and, I swear to the gods, my eyeball might pop out.

“Britta!” Cohen yells.

I shake my head to clear the pain. Focus.

Tomas lunges for me, but I manage to roll away from him, twisting my restrained arm almost to the point of breaking. I pull my knees into my body and then thrust both feet at his chest, hitting him squarely.

The impact causes Tomas to stumble back, trip over Cohen, and fall to the floor.

Cohen tips himself and the chair over like a felled tree, landing on Tomas’s torso. The breath whooshes out of the guard. His unconsciousness is sealed when Cohen slams the butt of his elbow against the side of Tomas’s head.

My grin stretches across my face like an addled person’s. Cohen and I each have only one arm free; yet, we downed one of the king’s guards.